


show me love

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, a fic about fic, so many feelings, this is kinda meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bressie discovers nessie fic. Things escalate quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me love

**Author's Note:**

> because bressie favorited this [tweet](https://twitter.com/sunshinexbomb/status/494680315139325954) and no one else wrote a fic about it, so this is me filling that void i guess. not beta'd or irish-picked so sorry for any mistakes/inaccuracies. 
> 
> title from the song of the same name by bressie.

 

Like most of his bad decisions, Bressie blames the whole thing entirely on too many pints and Eoghan’s terrible influence.

 

It’s fair to blame Eoghan, really, because if it weren’t for him opening his mouth, Bressie would never even know this, this… this _thing_ , even existed.

 

“What t’fuck,” he says. “Who wrote this?”

 

Eoghan looks over, blinking slowly at him. “Brez, are you actually _reading_ that? C’mon, it was just a laugh.”

 

Bressie shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. The pub is crowded, the too-warm press of bodies starting to feel a little claustrophobic. “I thought y’were taking the piss,” he mumbles.

 

“Yeah, no, I was serious. It’s like written porn. Didn’t think y’d actually read it, christ. Some of that shit is fuckin’ _filthy_.”

 

That makes Bressie raise a brow. “So you’ve read it, then?”

 

Eoghan winks. “I’m subscribed.”

 

It’s a testament to just how many pints Bressie’s had that he honestly can’t tell if Eoghan is serious. With one last glance at his screen - jesus, he didn’t know you could _do_ that with come - Bressie closes out of the browser and slips his mobile into his pocket.

 

He plans to forget this whole night ever happened. Shouldn’t be too hard, what with the way his vision has already gone fuzzy ‘round the edges.

 

Of course, nothing in Bressie’s life could ever be that easy.

 

-

 

A week later, he’s in the studio, looking up something on his phone when something unfamiliar pops up in his browser history.

 

Bressie can feel his cheeks heat as the memory comes swimming back into focus. Eoghan’s face, flushed an inebriated red, as he gleefully informs Bressie that he’s a massive _Nessie shipper_.

 

“A nessie _what_?”

 

“It’s like, um… oh, here, look!”

 

A mobile is thrust into his face, blurry black letters on a white background. Okay. “Are y’writing a book?”

 

“No!” Eoghan honest to god giggles. Sometimes Bressie forgets he’s a grown man. “It’s called a fic. It’s about--” more giggles and a pause while Eoghan takes another pull from his pint  “--you ‘n Niall.”

 

“What about me ‘n Niall?” Bressie demands. He’s lost the thread of the conversation.

 

“Y’know,” Eoghan says, even though Bressie clearly doesn’t. “You two, like, together. _Intimately_.”

 

His memory is sort of hazy after that point, but Bressie somehow ended up with the book -- the _fic_ \-- on his own phone, dizzily reading the tiny print about how he and Niall-- how they--

 

“Excuse me,” he says and promptly exits the recording booth, walking down the hallway to the bathroom in a few short strides and locking the door behind him.

 

Helplessly, he scans over the words, positive that he was mistaken, that the beer caught up with him and he just misremembered reading about himself, pinning Niall onto a mattress, bending his smaller form in half as he…

 

Nope. Definitely didn’t misremember. Jesus.

 

He hastily tries to exit out, fully intending to delete his browser history and forget this ever happened, but his fecking oversized thumb accidentally hits something and suddenly there are no less than thirty books? stories? _fics_ on his screen, all promising _Niall Breslin/Niall Horan_.

 

Surely they can’t all be porn, he reasons, and it’s not weird just to check what people are writing about him and Niall. Anyway, he’s got a duty, doesn’t he, to look out for the lad, make sure there’s nothing slanderous written about him.

 

That’s how Bressie finds himself locked in a bathroom, sweat pricking at his temple, gripping his phone with white knuckles as he tries to figure out what to about his half-hard dick.

 

It’s all downhill from there.

 

-

 

“It’s like, it’s not even realistic, y’know? I would never say half this shit.”

 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Brez. Are y’seriously critiquing the characterization? That’s your big problem? Not that people are writing actual porn about you ‘n Niall.”

 

Bressie considers that. Eoghan has a point. “Well, I mean, obviously that’s an issue too. The things they write us doin’... I’d crush him. Not ‘t mention his knee! Christ, like I’d want ‘t risk hurtin’ Niall like that.”

 

Eoghan makes a strange sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Mate, I mean this in the nicest way possible, so don’t, like, take it the wrong way, but… you gotta stop reading this shit. It’s fucking weird.”

 

“I wouldn’t’ve known about it ‘n the first place if it weren’t for you!”

 

“And I wouldn’tve shown it ‘t ya if I weren’t pissed outta my mind. Look, if y’wanna call someone up ‘n the middle of the night ‘t debate this, give Niall a ring.”

 

Bressie scoffs. “What? Are ya feckin’ kidding me? I’m not going ‘t ring Niall.”

 

“Why not? You clearly have a lot to say on the subject. ‘M sure Niall’d love to hear about it.”

 

“Because, it’s not-- he’s not-- _fuck_. G’night, Eoghan.”

 

He hangs up on the sound of Eoghan’s braying laughter. Some fuckin’ mate he turned out to be.

 

-

 

By the light of morning, Bressie acknowledges that calling up Eoghan in the middle of the night to rant was probably not one of his finer moments. He has no doubt that Eoghan is going to be merciless the next time he sees him, but it’s not like Bressie was the one who discovered this shit in the first place.

 

He says a silent prayer that Niall has never seen any of it and ignores the shiver of shameful arousal he gets at the thought. He definitely doesn’t picture Niall curled up, in the back of the tour bus, maybe, stretches of empty highway flashing by under the tires and stars streaking the dark sky overhead. Niall feeling a little homesick, scrolling through his mobile but knowing it’s too early back home to call anyone. Instead, he opens up a link, reading through the words with his lip caught in his teeth, biting down hard enough that the skin turns white.

 

Niall’s all alone, the rest of the lads sound asleep in their bunks, so there’s no one to catch him when he thumbs open his flies, slips his hand inside his trousers to rub over the bulge in his pants. It doesn’t take long before Niall’s skinny hips are squirming, hand still rubbing teasingly slow as he reads, but he’s barely gotten to the good part, the part where Bressie--

 

Bressie slams his fist down into the mattress, pulling himself from the dangerous little daydream he was entertaining. It’s one thing to _read_ about it, he thinks wildly, as long as it’s just to critique, just to look out for Niall, make sure there’s nothing too-- well, there are some things that are maybe a little, but it’s so unrealistic, so it’s really--

 

His head’s such a mess, he can’t even finish a thought. Throwing off the duvet, Bressie pads into the bathroom, turning the shower taps until cold water is raining down on his shoulders. He hisses at the sting of it, head bowed and hands placed flat against the tiled walls.

 

It doesn’t help.

 

With a groan, Bressie runs a shaky hand down his chest, stopping himself just before he reaches his dick. He can’t help but think about how much smaller Niall’s hands are, how different it would feel to have those slim fingers trace over the ridges of his abs, reach down further to wrap around his dick.

 

Giving up all pretenses, Bressie reaches out blindly to turn on the hot water. It doesn’t take long for the shower to fill with steam, and Bressie lets out an embarrassing noise when he finally gets a hand on himself. It’s hard to pretend it’s Niall’s, but Bressie’s already vivid imagination has gotten plenty of material over the past week and his mind hasn’t left the gutter.

 

He’s so close to coming already, the fingers of one hand scrabbling against the slick tiles and his hips pumping into his fist, images flashing rapid fire in his mind - Niall on his knees, blinking up at Bressie with tears in his eyes and mouth stuffed full of cock; Niall laid out on a bed, arse in the air as Bressie looms over him, hands kneading at his hips; Niall splayed beneath him, knees bent as Bressie fucks into him, whispering hotly that he loves it when Bressie fucks his tight little cunt--

 

Bressie comes with a strangled gasp, so hard that he almost slips, barely managing to catch himself against the slippery shower wall. Christ. He didn’t think he’d liked it, when he read first read that one, pretending like Niall had a cunt in bed, but…

 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t have any limits, when it comes to Niall.

 

He turns the tap back to cold as punishment and stands there for a long, long time.

 

-

 

So, it’s a problem, but Bressie is _handling it_.

 

Rather, he’s handling himself, because so far the only solution he’s figured out is shameful wanks in the shower. He’s also been ignoring all of Eoghan’s texts and calls, because it’s one thing to admit to himself that he’s got a twisted sort of attraction to one of his much younger, impressionable mates, but it’s quite another to admit it to Eoghan.

 

Bressie’s a shite liar. Eoghan will figure out he’s hiding something in thirty seconds flat and Bressie hasn’t exactly been subtle about his infatuation with those damn _fics_. A smart lad like Eoghan will put the pieces together in no time. Best to just ignore everything.

 

Anyway, the head in the sand approach to the whole thing is working out great, at least until Bressie is blindsided by a text from Niall.

 

**back in london ! wanna see ya head. go for a pint?**

 

It’s not like he can say no. It’s as if the word isn’t in his vocabulary, whenever Niall’s around.

 

-

 

Bressie’s vision has gone fuzzy ‘round the edges and he’s got a fleeting sense of deja-vu. The pub is warm and overcrowded, but this time there’s a loud-mouth blonde tucked tight into his side, head thrown back in cackling laughter.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the pale column of Niall’s throat, Bressie busies himself with another gulp from his pint. That’s been his strategy all night: take a drink every time he catches himself staring, which definitely explains why his head is swimming.

 

At least Niall doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s the same as he always is, bright and loud and somehow filling the entire room, even though he couldn’t weigh more than a buck fifty soaking wet. It’s a dangerous line of thinking, imagining Niall soaking wet, and Bressie knocks back the rest of his pint in repentance.

 

There’s an insistent nudge against his side and Bressie looks down into a pair of wide, concerned eyes, blue like the ocean or the sky or some other shitty, overwrought comparison. What is he, a 12 year old with a crush? He shakes his head at himself.

 

“Al’right, chief?”

 

Niall smiles up at him. “Was gonna ask you t’same question. Y’been quiet all night, Brez.”

 

Curling a hand around his empty pint glass, Bressie studies the bottom, looking for an answer that isn’t there.

 

“‘M fine. Long week, y’know?”

 

A frown replaces the smile. “Why’d y’let me drag ya out, then? Don’t want ya miserable on my account.”

 

Bressie reaches out to ruffle Niall’s hair, earning a squawk of protest, but the grin comes creeping back like Niall can’t help it.

 

“Promise ya, ‘m not miserable. It’s always good ‘t see ya, Niall.”

 

That seems to satisfy him and he settles back into the booth, warm against Bressie’s side. “You too, Brez,” he mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard over the din of noise in the pub.

 

It’s sort of a reflex, to drop his arm from where he had it stretched across the back of the booth around Niall’s narrow shoulders. Bressie lets himself have this moment, promises that this is the end of it, that he’s not going to let his stupid, inappropriate feelings get in the way of this friendship. Niall looks up to him, like a-- like a mentor, almost, and Bressie’s not going to take advantage of him, he’s _not_.

 

After a minute, he pulls away, gesturing to Niall that he’s going to get another pint. The frown is back, but Bressie’s used up all his willpower and if he has to spend another minute pressed up close to Niall he’s going to do something regrettable.

 

Eoghan manages to catch his eye at the bar, and raises his brow at Bressie’s empty glass. Bressie’s been doing a bang-up job of avoiding him all night, but if the way Eoghan is pushing through the crowd towards him with determination is any indication, his luck is about to run out.

 

Bressie’s a big enough man to admit defeat. He beats a hasty exit out of the pub, shooting Niall a text from the backseat of the cab in lieu of saying goodbye.

 

He goes home to an empty flat, passes out in a bed that suddenly seems too big for one.

 

-

 

At first, he thinks the noise is part of his dream, a kaleidoscope of images that fade as soon as he cracks his eyes open. The noise doesn’t stop, though, a persistent knocking that he eventually realizes is the sound of knuckles rapping against a door.

 

Groaning, Bressie rolls over, frowning at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock. It’s way too late -- or way too early -- for someone to be knocking on his door. He still feels half-drunk, which makes sense, as he only stumbled home a few hours ago.

 

The knocking finally stops, only to be replaced with the buzzing of his phone.

 

He closes his eyes, lets the call go to voicemail.

 

“Open t’fuckin’ door, Brez. I know you’re home.” The knocking is back with a vengeance, this time coupled with a pissed-sounding Niall. Well, a stern-sounding Niall, Bressie amends. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Niall properly pissed.

 

His neighbors will be properly pissed if Niall doesn’t quit making such a racket, so with a long-suffering sigh, Bressie climbs out of bed, treading softly on bare feet to answer the door.

 

He’s greeted with a glaring Niall, though his look softens a bit when he takes in Bressie’s bare chest and no-doubt ridiculous bedhead.

 

“What’re doing here, chief? ‘S like 4am.”

 

“Don’t care. We need ‘t talk.” Niall pushes past him without waiting for a response, stalking to the living room. Bressie takes a minute to compose himself, closing the door with a quiet click, before cautiously following.

 

Niall’s perched himself on the edge of the couch, arms crossed like a petulant child. Bressie pauses in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame in a casual stance that belies the erratic beating of his heart against his ribcage.

 

“This couldn’t wait ‘til mornin’?”

 

Niall’s quiet for a moment, like he’s carefully considering his words. Bressie braces himself, but it’s like a shock of cold water when Niall eventually says, “I talked ‘t Eoghan.”

 

_Fuck_. “About what?”

 

“T’fuck d’ya think? ‘Bout you, head. Y’were off all night. Eoghan’s says y’ve been that way for weeks.”

 

Bressie can feel his teeth grinding, forces himself to relax his jaw. “Yeah, well, Eoghan’s got a big fuckin’ mouth. Shouldn’t listen ‘t a word he says. Y’ve got better sense than that, lad.”

 

“Couldn’t talk ‘t you, could I?” Niall shoots back, eyes blazing. “Not with the way y’avoided all my questions, left without even sayin’ bye.”

 

“Niall…” Bressie trails off, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, it’s not what y’think, all right? It’s got nothin’ ‘t do with you.” It’s just Bressie and his complete inability to be around Niall without thinking about all the ways he wants to _ruin_ him. God, he’s so fucked.

 

For some reason, that makes Niall’s lips curve into something resembling a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If Bressie weren’t twice his size, he might call that look dangerous.

 

“Are ya sure, Brez?”

 

“Whatever Eoghan told you--”

 

Niall slips off the couch, stalking over to Bressie until he has to tip his chin up to meet his gaze. “Told me you’re a critic. Don’t give me enough credit, either. M'knee can take whatever y’ve got.”

 

“You-- he--” Bressie sputters, too stunned to form a coherent sentence. “He _told you_ about the fic?”

 

Niall grins. “Who d’ya think showed it ‘t Eoghan in the first place?”

 

Bressie's thankful for the doorframe holding him up, or he’s sure he’d have collapsed gracelessly onto the floor. “You… what?”

 

Still grinning up at him slyly, Niall says, “‘S kinda hot, innit? Woulda showed it ‘t ya earlier, if I’d’ve known y’d be into it.” He frowns suddenly. “Y’are into it, right? Eoghan said y’ve been a right headcase since he showed it ‘t ya, can’t get it through that thick skull o’yours that it’s okay ‘t fancy a mate--”

 

“I don’t,” Bressie chokes out. “I don’t fancy you.”

 

Niall takes an abrupt step back, the smile dropping off his face.

 

“No, I mean--” he says hurriedly. “I don’t _just_ fancy you. I’m… god, it’s so fucked. Y’don’t get it, Niall. The things I wanna do ‘t you…” he trails off, shaking his head. “It’s not right. I shouldn’t… you’re so young, and I…”

 

“Brez. Look at me.”

 

Bressie lifts his head miserably, meeting Niall’s steady gaze.

 

“Ask me.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Ask m_ e,” Niall repeats. “‘M not a child, Brez. Y’don’t need ‘t protect me. Tell me what y’want, _ask me_ if it’s okay.”

 

For a long moment, Bressie just looks at him. Niall doesn’t flinch, looking back at Bressie with a steely determination that Bressie doesn’t see often, but explains how Niall can spend more than half the year on the road, thrive as an international popstar and come out the other side with his soul intact. It’s the best thing about Niall, how grounded he is, how _real_ , how despite the fame and fortune, he’s still that same lad from Mullingar, always ready for a pint and a laugh.

 

Bressie licks his lips. “I want ‘t fuck you.”

 

The words hang between them for a minute. Then Niall is surging up on his toes, hand wrapped around Bressie’s neck to tug him down until he can reach his mouth. He kisses Bressie recklessly, a slick, hot slide of lips and tongue, the sharp sting of teeth as he bites at Bressie’s lips.

 

“Bed,” he pants against Bressie’s mouth. “Please, Brez.”

 

Bressie slides his hands down Niall’s back, over the slight curve of his arse, until he’s gripping the back of thighs. With a grunt, he lifts Niall up. Niall catches on quickly, not breaking the kiss as he wraps his legs around Bressie’s waist. Stumbling down the hall, Bressie somehow manages not to knock Niall into a wall or door frame, finally reaching the bedroom and dropping him unceremoniously on the bed.

 

Niall doesn’t waste anytime, shimmying out of his shirt and throwing it to the floor. He kicks off his trainers, hands stilling only when he reaches for his flies, still lounging back on the bed.

 

“This okay? You’re not goin’ ‘t freak out on me if we do this?”

 

Bracing himself with one knee on the edge of the mattress, Bressie leans down until he can kiss Niall again, softer and slower than the near desperate snogging from before. He breaks off, pressing his forehead to Niall’s. “It’s okay. Promise.”

 

With a wicked grin, Niall shoves at Bressie’s shoulder. “Then get your fuckin’ kit off already.”

 

Bressie doesn’t need to be told twice. He rolls off Niall and onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, lifting his hips and freeing his cock with a quiet groan. He looks over to find that Niall is watching him with dark eyes, still wearing his unbuttoned trousers. Bressie reaches over and tugs at a belt loop. “Can’t fuck ya if y’don’t get these off.”

 

Niall blinks slowly at him, like he’s coming out of a trance, before grinning and rolling over onto his side, wrapping his left hand around Bressie’s dick. Bressie has to close his eyes at the sight of Niall’s hand pumping him slowly, swallowing down the whimper that wants to escape.

 

“Tryin’ ‘t make me come before I even get inside ya?” he manages to gasp.

 

Smothering a laugh against the skin of Bressie’s neck, Niall follows it up with a quick press of lips before he climbs off Bressie, finally wriggling out of his ridiculous skinny jeans while Bressie roots around for lube and condoms.

 

When Bressie looks back over, Niall is splayed out on his back, idly running his hand over his own dick. He catches Bressie’s eye and spreads his legs, grinning wolfishly.

 

“Christ,” Bressie murmurs, accepting the invitation and kneeling carefully between Niall’s thighs. “You're tryin’ ‘t kill me, aren’t ya?”

 

Niall’s eyes track the movement of Bressie’s hand as he trails slick over his fingers. Bressie gently pets at Niall’s stomach with one hand as he eases his fingertip between Niall’s arsecheeks, feels the way the muscles jump as he presses at Niall’s entrance.

 

“Do it,” Niall orders when Bressie hesitates. “‘M not gonna break, Brez.”

 

Bressie pushes in agonizingly slow, watching the way Niall’s chest hitches, the trembling in his thighs. He waits until Niall nods before working into a rhythm, gradually adding more fingers until Niall’s almost writhing on the bed, panting and sweaty.

 

“”M ready,” he gasps. “Please, Brez, need ya.”

 

Bressie presses in once more, hitting the spot that makes Niall whine. “Need me t’what, Niall?”

 

“Jesus Christ, please, fuck me, Brez, _please_.”

 

Pulling his fingers free, Bressie rolls the condom on before lining himself up. Niall looks wrecked already, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, flushed red down his chest as he watches Bressie, the black of his pupils almost swallowing the blue.

 

Bressie doesn’t exactly have small fingers, but despite taking his time prepping Niall, it’s still a stretch when he starts pushing in. Niall’s eyes slip shut and Bressie presses his lips to Niall’s eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. He can feel where Niall’s hand has stilled around his dick and reaches between them to wrap his fingers around Niall’s, working into a rhythm. The distraction works and Niall relaxes enough that Bressie can push the rest of the way in, until his hips are flush with Niall’s arse.

 

“Y’okay?”

 

Niall nods, eyes cracking open enough that Bressie can see just a slice of blue. “Yeah. Just. Gimme a minute.”

 

“Okay,” he says a moment later. “I need you ‘t move now.”

 

Letting out a shaky breath, Bressie eases out before snapping his hips. Niall’s legs come up to wrap around him, and its-- its better than anything Bressie’s read, because its _real_ , Niall falling apart underneath him, fingers digging into Bressie’s shoulder, the choked off whimpers as Bressie fucks into him, babbling _harder_ and _faster_ and _please_ and _oh god Brez I love you_ \--

 

Bressie’s hips stutter and then he’s coming without warning, nearly collapsing on top of Niall when his arms give out. He manages to land half on his side, half on Niall’s chest, trying to catch his breath. Niall’s hand is a blur on his dick and then he’s following Bressie over the edge a minute later, shooting off all over his own chest.

 

He still hasn’t caught his breath, but all Bressie can hear is the pounding of his own heart, slamming against the wall of chest so hard he swears he can feel the ache. Niall turns towards him, a fond smile pulling at his lips and Bressie almost trips in his haste to scramble out of bed.

 

“Need to… flannel, get y’cleaned up,” he offers by way of explanation, fleeing to the bathroom. He splashes cold water over his face, but can’t meet his own gaze in the mirror. Dutifully, he wets a flannel before padding back to the bedroom.

 

Niall’s still lying in the middle of Bressie’s bed, chest covered in come and studying him with a guarded expression. Bressie pauses in the doorway, dimly aware of the water droplets dripping onto the hardwood.

 

“You’re freaking out,” Niall says.

 

“No I’m not,” Bressie lies.

 

Niall places a hand underneath his head, settling into Bressie’s bed like he belongs. “Is it the sex, or the feelings?” He keeps talking before Bressie can form an answer. “Because I’ll take whatever you’re willing ‘t give me, Brez. All I’m askin’ is that you talk ‘t me, like the adult y’claim ‘t be.”

  
“I…” Bressie starts. He looks down at the flannel in his hands, wishing he could avoid this entire conversation, get Niall cleaned off and crawl back into bed, have Niall curled up against him, warm and drowsy and uncomplicated.   


“It’s not that easy,” he says finally.

 

Niall rolls his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with ya ‘cause I thought it’d be easy. ‘M not afraid of hardwork, y’know, if it means I get something I want.”

 

“And what d’you want?”

 

“Right now, ‘t get cleaned off. ‘M fuckin’ _sticky_.”

 

That, at least, is something Bressie can handle. He climbs back into bed, settling next to Niall, and carefully wipes the wet flannel over his chest. Niall sighs contentedly, grabbing it out of Bressie’s hand once he’s done and flinging it to the floor. He rubs his fingers over the short hairs at the base of Bressie’s skull, pulls him down into a slow kiss.

 

“Want you, Brez,” he mumbles when Bressie pulls back. “We can figure out the details later. Just, s’long as y’want me, too.”

 

Bressie presses a kiss to Niall’s temple. “Course I do." He takes a deep breath. "Love you, too, y’know.”

  
  
Smiling sleepily, Niall tucks himself into Bressie’s side, arm draped across his chest. “I know. ‘S nice ‘t hear y’say it, though.”  
  
  
-

  
Things aren't any less complicated in the morning, but Bressie thinks maybe that's okay. 

 

He's loved Niall for a long time, and being in love with him isn't so different. It might not be easy, but like Niall said: they'll figure out the details later.

 

"So, I've been thinking," Niall says conversationally. He's got his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, the morning sun glinting off his sleep-mussed hair. "You were into the fics, right?"

 

Bressie almost chokes on a mouthful of tea. "What?"

 

Niall blinks up at him innocently. "Well, I've got a few bookmarked, just for, y'know, reference purposes. There was the one, with the plug? What'dya think? Y'up for some experimentation?"

 

Carefully, Bressie sets down his mug of tea before he spills it everywhere. "You're takin' the piss."

 

Niall keeps a straight face for all of ten seconds before he dissolves into helpless laughter. "Your _face_ , Brez!"

 

It's not long before Bressie cracks, Niall's infectious laughter filling the room. 

 

No, it might not be easy. But Bressie thinks that Niall's right.

 

Some things are worth the hard work. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> listen this got away from me. i don't know how all these feelings happened. anyway, feedback/comments welcome :)


End file.
